


Tomorrow maybe!

by Acacia_Wishes



Category: The Wizards of Once - Cressida Cowell
Genre: Angst, Basically you can imagine ot as dark as you want, Gen, I Tried, No Archive Warnings Apply - Freeform, Or not at all, Xar is in jail and a drood just returned him to his cell, but some violence is implied, he’s in prison so this is probably angsty, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 01:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acacia_Wishes/pseuds/Acacia_Wishes
Summary: Xar is in the Gormincrag Rehabilitation Center for the Re-Education of Dark Magic and Wicked Wizards. (Which is just a fancy way of saying jail.)He does not like it there.Duh.AKA I tried writing a fanfic.





	Tomorrow maybe!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jayalaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayalaw/gifts).



“Tomorrow maybe!”  
He shouted far more confident than he truly felt, for that ‘tomorrow’ would be the forty-second tomorrow in a row.

His cheek and rudery were still there, but had mellowed with every one. Now they merely sounded hollow. The way his voice started to crack at the end of the word betrayed him.

The drood did not reply, as usual.

The boy slumped back on his bed.  
He needed some water to get the bitter and sour taste of a potion out of his mouth.  
Potions were by far the most popular treatment method, albeit not very effective, given the growing population of the prison.

  
The Great Howling Hairy Hindogre he met in the courtyard had told him the droods do not bother with fancier treatments unless there is a very good reason for it.  
Luckily (or unluckily, depending on your viewpoint) for Xar, he was the son of the king Enchanter and curing him was a priority.  
The longer they kept him, the higher the chances of a diplomatic crisis with the wizards, and that was something the droods did not particularly look forward to.  
Xar felt unlucky, for the droods had tried a lot of different ways to cure him.  
They had taken samples of his hair and nails, tied him to a chair with his palm on the elbow rest and poked his hand with their weird measuring instruments, fed him herbs and made him drink potions.

 

One potion had made him see things. Useless things, like flying cutlery and spinning furniture, but also images of Wish and Bodkin, his room (without dead witch) and his father’s smile.  
He had felt so calm that evening, pretending to walk around the wizard encampment and giggled multiple hours for no reason at all.  
It was the only night when he had pleasant dreams.

The wizard boy poured himself a third cup of water.  
This potion was even worse than the usual one.  
Crumplevine, one drood had called it. A drink to get poisonous substances out of the blood system.  
It was absolutely disgusting nonetheless.

 

The droods must have seen trough him by now, the boy was sure of it.  
A thirteen year old with a witchstain and multiple charges of ‘disturbing the public order of the prison’.  
_How defiant could he still be?_

Quite, was the answer. He tried his best to be defiant. There was no way he would actually stay in this prison! Lonesome was with him, and while no other prisoners had joined his jailbreak team, he was sure his team would grow. 

 

The metal chain on his handcuff made an unpleasant sound as the boy stood up.  
Out of fear that the witchstain would help him escape, they cuffed his left arm to the wall every night. As if that would stop the powerful magic of a witch!  
He stretched out his arm to grab his blanket.

  
An angry drood had suggested cutting the witchstain out, but no one had agreed out of fear for aforementioned, impending diplomatic crisis.  
The Enchanter did not know the boy was imprisoned yet and cutting open the hand of his son would not make him any friendlier.  
Xar still felt a bit of pride when he thought of it.  
These droods respected his father! A lot! The idea of a mad Great Enchanter was enough to make them change their stubborn minds.

His father.  
The wizard boy had not heard from him.  
A disturbing theory crept into his mind once in a while, telling him that his father was so disappointed in him that he did not bother. Why would he? He had a kingdom to run and a witch threat to battle. A magic-less disobedient child like him would not be worth fighting the drood commander over.  
He hesitated, and part of the chain dropped back on the ground.

  
Three days ago, when the cook got a new saw and threw the old one out, the idea had resurfaced.  
At least five droods had voted in favour of the plan. The drood commander, bitter as he was, still insisted that doing so was a bad idea.  
Xar had claimed that he knew they would not do it, even though the idea made him feel a little nauseous.  
It was common knowledge that Droods were not very generous with narcotics.  
How did one saw off a limb anyway? Wouldn’t the saw get stuck?

The boy thought about how everything in this prison was hard. The stone walls, the old wood, the mattresses, the metal chains and locks.  
Even the fabric of his blanket was a course, raw linen.  
He thought of his warrior friends. Everything from their cloaks, to their iron armour had been polished and soft to the touch.

  
He thought of Wish and Bodkin often. Whenever his mind would wander off, he’d think of what they would be doing.  
Their lives went on. Meanwhile, his daily life in the wizard fort was far away.  
Did they get in trouble too? Did they manage to keep Wish’s magic a secret? Did queen Sychorax find out Wish and Bodkin helped him escape?  
Now that Xar thought of it, he really should have written that note himself. His scribbles were terrible, but Sychorax knew what Wish’s handwriting looked like.  
Xar’s optimistic mind convinced itself that Wish and Bodkin were clever enough. They would be fine.  
They would not be locked in a claustrophobic space with only a tiny bit of light, that was for sure. *

 

During dinner, earlier in the evening, he had left a straw version of him in the mess hall. Lonesome sat next to it to block the droods’ view. He slipped trough the kitchen hallway to get the old saw from the scrapheap.  
He borrowed a cook’s robe and smuggled the saw back to his cell in a box of vegetables. The greatest problem was that the robe was made for someone taller than him, and he’d tripped.  
Xar was certain that he was not seen while picking up the carrots and leeks, but he admitted that there might be a small tomato in a corner somewhere.

 

The wizard boy wanted the droods to try that potion that made him see things again. It would not help him, but it would make him feel better for a while.  
During the days, where he would sit in the courtyard with Caliburn and his sprites or plan his escape with Lonesome, (He was still trying to get some super glue he hoped to use to immobilize the drood high command during dinner), things were not that bad.  
Squeezjoos would tell him how he had gotten into trouble and Caliburn would hand him some food from the not-super-restricted part of the prison.  
As companions to Xar, they had more freedom, but that also meant they were taken to a different part of the prison at night.  
And then Xar would be alone in his cell, with only the sound of his shackles and the moon.  
That was the worst part. Laying on his thin mattress, waiting for the sleep to come get him.

 

He had ditched the cook’s robe in a corner and stirred up trouble during dinner. The leeks he used for smuggling earlier then served as imaginary swords.  
“Get up and fight me, you rotten, leftover lettuce!” He had jumped on the table and battled Lonesome, who conveniently trampled straw-Xar in the process.  
“HEY! GET YOUR FOOT FROM MY PLATE!” someone at the same table shouted.  
Xar had jumped to the next table, knocking over a teapot.  
“YOU SQUASHED MY POTATOES!” another cursed.  
It did not take long before a full on food fight broke out.

The drood commander had scolded him personally, for he had gotten hit in the face with a pie, to great amusement of all the prisoners.  
Then a guard had brought him back to his cell.  
“Wretched teapot!” The drood had cursed while grabbing the chain on the floor.  
“That is the third time this week.”  
Xar gave a small smile.  
This drood clearly needed a lesson in cursing.  
Wretched teapot. That was a new one.  
Teapot drood had fumbled with the lock. It was a regular bronze one instead of a magic one. No one wanted to risk magic resources on a witchstain. What if they got infected?  
SNAP!  
The cuff around his wrist had shut tight.  
“You failed. Again.” Teapot drood had sneered. “You do did not escape today.”  
Xar shouted after him.

 

Three cups of water later, after the footsteps of the drood faded, and he counted to twenty, the wizard boy lifted his blanket.

The saw was still there. Exactly as he left it. Rusty, and a little too big to be handy, but it was there and it worked on bronze.  
He hid it under his mattress.

It had been a long day, and the moon already peeked trough the bars in front of the window. Except for the mumbling from the guards one floor below, the prison was cloaked in silence.  
The horrible creatures of the wildwoods all laid their heads on their pillows.  
Even the boy went to sleep. There was no gain in being awake without a plan, nor was there anything exciting around that was worth staying up for.

The rattling of the chain echoed trough the cell.  
He stared at the green cross in the palm of his hand.  
It did not even do anything.

Today he got himself a saw. He could saw through the chain, or the window bars. The window was too small for him to fit trough, but he would figure something out. Maybe try that Bigfoot disguise again, just to get a guard to open the door. Or ask Lonesome. He could not wait to tell the werewolf about the confiscated saw.

The boy closed his eyes.

 

He _would_ escape.

  
_Tomorrow maybe._

**Author's Note:**

> * They were actually in the punishment cupboard, but Xar does not know that.


End file.
